Page 103 of Razor

“Gone, boss.”

The smooth, surly tone of my driver only antagonizes me more.

“What do you mean, gone? Find her, bring her here where she belongs.”

The throbbing in my head won’t go away, and as blood spills onto my clothes, I raise my hand to my broken nose.

Fuck, I’m a mess. My mind is screwed as I struggle to focus, the images blurring as my head pounds, my stomach doubled over as I struggle to breathe. I need a doctor, an operation perhaps, but I need my slave more because she will bear the full force of my rage for this.

“Turn around. Go back for her and haul her out at gunpoint if you must.”

“It’s too late, boss. She was seen leaving in another car. We don’t have the license plate. She’s gone.”

I have never experienced anger like this in my life, and it curls around me like a dark force. Rage clouds my vision as I picture Josephine getting away for a second time, or is a third? I hate that I’m losing count.

My hand flys to my pocket, malevolence dancing with my vengeance as I search for the device that will end her life. I’m not worried about the distance between us. Technology has advanced significantly over the years, and Josephine is about to discover exactly what running has cost her this time - her life.

My fingers close on nothing.

What the hell?

Frantically, I search every pocket I own but the fob is nowhere to be found.

What the fuck? Where the hell is it?

Anger clouds my vision as I face the fact that she got away – again.

I attempt to breathe, to refocus because my priorities are now clear. First, I get fixed up. Then I hunt Josephine down. I will imprison her and make her pay for running away from me a second time. This time I won’t be so loving either. Her future is set. And thirdly, I will teach Sophie Clere what happens when you make a fool of Santiago De Soura. She will pay for this and will be begging me for mercy by the time I wrap my rope around her neck and squeeze what’s left of the life out of her.

I am so busy planning my revenge, I’m shocked when the driver cusses.

“Fuck.”

“What is it?”

“Roadblock.”

“Deal with it!”

I almost scream the words, and as he applies the brakes, I fall forward, my head hitting the metal of the screen.

“You fucking imbecile.”

I yell but before I can recover my thoughts, the door swings open and rough hands pull me from the car.

The sound of a gun chamber clicking against the back of my head stills my breath, and a low, husky whisper hits me like the curse of the devil.

“Santiago De Sauro. You are hereby sentenced to death with no right to appeal.”

“Who are you?”

I’m guessing I can buy my way out of this obvious attempt at blackmail and add, “Name your price.”

“No appeal.”

The whisper slithers through my veins like a poisonous python, and I glance up, my soul shivering at the menacing figures surrounding me.

Skeleton masks cover the lower parts of their faces. Black leather with an angel’s wings tells me my fate, and my heart pounds triple fast.